


Detention

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age play sort of, Bondage, Collars, Committed Relationship, D/s, Date Night, Discipline, Edging, F/M, Mr. M and Kitten, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Vaginal Sex, but there'll only be like four chapters, malfoy trickery, other fun things as I get to other chapters, paddles, professor malfoy kink, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: Hermione is upset that she will have to be away from Draco on their anniversary but her cunning little Slytherin always finds a way to bring them together.*******The continuing stories of Mr. M and Kitten (a committed Dramione relationship with D/s playtime). This features kinky roleplay in a school setting. those who had the opportunity to read the "sneak peek" drabble will notice that the implements Draco has chosen for playtime have changed :)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 28
Kudos: 257
Collections: DH, Mr. M and Kitten





	1. Norwich

“This is unbelievable,” Hermione said, twisting up the scroll she’d received into a much tighter little column than was actually necessary and throwing it on the table. “I have to portkey all the way to bloody Norwich to some piddly little private wizarding academy and meet with their headmaster on Friday about their collection of historical herbology documents. Norwich! From here! That’s just ridiculous. And why does it have to be today? If they’d only asked me…”

Draco hid behind his book, smiling at the witch’s polite tirade over the breakfast table while the owl that had delivered the bad news waited patiently by the window, occasionally flapping his wings as if to remind them of the trip he’d just took.

“We were supposed to go out that night,” she sighed, clearly unsatisfied with his non-reaction, his lack of sympathetic rage.

He put the book down to give her his full attention then broke off a piece of his cranberry scone and gave it to the owl who, if owls could actually do so, sneered at the meager offering and flew off. 

“Hermione, love, darling. It’s one Friday night. You’re making an awful scene about it. Dare I suggest you're being...dramatic?”

“But you planned such a nice evening for us! It’s our anniversary!” She said, moving around the table to sit on his lap, rubbing her finger over the black leather ring he wore around his thumb. 

It wasn’t a ring at all, but the leather collar that she wore for playtime, shrunk down to an inconspicuous size. She twisted it around his finger as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“There will be other evenings, other anniversaries,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “Actually, we have every evening for the rest of our lives if my math is correct.”

“I know that, Malfoy,” she said. “But I wanted to spend this one with you.”

She sighed and stood, smoothing her skirt and adjusting a pin in her hair before heading out the door to work.

  
She was always awake before him, but to prepare for her trip to Norwich she was up even earlier, tip toeing into the bathroom to shower. 

“Good morning, Granger,” he purred, stepping into the tub behind her, turning the knob to heat the water a few more degrees. 

“Draco! How nice to see you awake before noon,” she teased, smoothing her hair back from her face.

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble some day, witch,” he said, pinching her ass hard enough to make her squeal, turning around to slap his chest. 

“What were your plans for the day now that I’ve abandoned you?” She asked.

“Oh I don’t know,” he sighed, massaging shampoo into her thick, dark hair, dragging his soapy fingers through her curls. He'd loved her hair from the first. It was unbearably cliche but the reason for his relentless teasing on the subject while in school was that he hoped one day to bury his hands in it, to stroke it, twisting the curls around his fingertips. In truth, he'd never found it bushy or ugly or hideous, just...irresistible.

“I may stop in and visit with Harry and Ginny, see if perhaps Ginny is as experimental as she claims to be…maybe go down the shops and get some new boots. The usual.”

“You do that love,” she said, ducking under the hot water to rinse. “And I’ll come home and show you the new ball shrinking hex I learned from Luna.”

He laughed out loud then and she couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He’d spent so much of his youth in fear, bullying others to hide his shame, his loneliness, isolating himself so they wouldn't see his tears. She could remember so clearly the first time she’d made him laugh and how it had filled her with a sort of pride that nothing else could match. Draco Malfoy wasn’t perfect and she didn't need perfect. He knew he’d have to spend the rest of his life fighting for the respect of everyone in wizard England, to prove that he’d truly changed. It was an exhausting job that he’d volunteered for and Hermione stuck by him through it all. She believed that he deserved to be happy. 

He picked at a chocolate chip muffin while Hermione raced around the house getting ready. She didn’t begrudge him his life of leisure, running his potions development company from home with the occasional brilliant breakthrough that he sold to the healers and hospitals throughout the world, but sometimes seeing him in his pajamas sipping tea while she did her best to get out of the house by eight o’clock got her blood up a bit.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, his chair balancing on the two back legs as he leaned back from the table.

She looked down at her black trousers and wine colored jumper. She’d worn her black dragonhide boots with the three inch heels just for him as a matter of fact.

“I…yes…no…why?” She stomped her foot when he grinned at her. “Draco I am literally running out the door…what is wrong with my outfit?”

"Nothing at all love,” he drawled, picking up his wand. “But you know I love my kitten in skirts.”

With a swish of his wand her black trousers became a sensible black skirt cut just above her knee, showing off her long, toned legs. Her usual instinct was to chew him out for a while but she was already late to the portkey and besides...

He’d called her Kitten. 

So instead she just sighed and smiled, smoothing her new skirt before giving him a kiss goodbye.

“Hopefully I’ll be back early and we can find some way to celebrate,” she said, arranging his hair. When she looked down at his hand she noticed that the black thumb ring was missing and it made her cheeks flare with heat.

“Yes,” Draco said, drumming his bare fingers on the table, “hopefully.”

  
The headmistress from Strumpshaw Primary Wizard Academy had arranged for her to arrive at the front gate of the school by nine a.m., but when Hermione arrived at the Ministry Portkey Distribution Office, the clerk gave her a sheepish smile.

“Miss Granger, I’m so sorry. It seems your portkey was a charmed flower vase that was accidentally stuffed full of tulips and sent to Helen Harenose’s Retirement do up on the sixth floor.”

“Helen Harenose!? Are you—“

“I’m so sorry. But please don’t worry Miss Granger, we’ve sent an owl to the school to let them know of our mistake and we’ll have another portkey set up as soon as possible. I’ll send a memo straight away to your office when it’s ready.”

  
It took three more hours to secure the right spell for the new portkey, (which ended up being a handmade tea mug from Roger Feverfroth’s desk) and by then the headmistress asked that she not arrive until after three, when classes would be done for the day. So with one last stop in the ladies room to freshen her hair and makeup and practice her schmooziest smile, she clutched the mug and went whirling off to the east.

It was a gorgeous spring afternoon and as she walked through the iron gates and up the graveled walkway to the entrance of the tiny school, Hermione was reminded once again of the afternoon and evening she could have been having with Draco. They’d been married for two years officially (at 2:37 precisely, in fact), and had promised each other to always be together on their anniversary, no matter what. But here she was, breaking the vow they’d made together in just the second year. What’s worse was that Draco didn’t seem bothered at all. She’d told him that she might need to spend the night in Norwich if the meeting ran long and he’d barely blinked an eye. She had no doubt that he still loved her with every ounce of his being as he was all too anxious to prove it to her on a near hourly basis; but she didn’t want to be one of those couples who let these milestones pass without recognition.

It was nearly half four. She gasped and burst through the front doors of the school, rushing to the desk in the reception area to announce her arrival.

“Oh no worries at all Mrs. Malfoy,” the you witch behind the desk said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Yes, the entire wizarding world knew that she and Draco were married. It had been something just short of a public holiday when they exchanged vows, with reporters and photographers from every wizard newspaper clamoring for the best coverage of the world’s greatest Enemies to Lovers story in the history of England and an intimate reception planned by Narcissa for six hundred of their closest friends. She and Draco were married. Finally. And everyone knew it. And yet she was also sure that she’d made it quite clear that she was Mrs. Malfoy in legal documents and wizard registry only. For all other purposes she was still…

“Granger,” she corrected. “Ms. Granger.”

“Oh I’m so sorry Ms. Granger, of course. I only…I’m…” the girl was blushing madly and Hermione felt bad for snapping. 

“It’s fine. It’s just, I’m in a bit of a rush and I’ve had an awful day…”

“Just upstairs Ms. Granger. Last classroom on the left.”

Classroom? She’d been under the impression they’d be meeting in the library, or the school archives, but she didn’t wait for clarification. Hermione was already late for the meeting, now running through the empty halls, clutching her beaded bag, her heart racing with worry. If she didn’t secure these documents for the Ministry, Hannah would never let her hear the end of it.

The last classroom on the left was open, but empty.

“Hello? I’m so sorry I’m late but…”

She walked down the center aisle towards the front of the room where a wide mahogany desk sat in front of a freshly cleaned blackboard. Her apology was cut short when she looked down at one of the double desks in the second row and saw the small black loop of leather, unbuckled...waiting.

“Always an excuse at the ready, isn’t there Miss Granger?”

Her scalp prickled as she picked up the collar and slipped it around her neck. His voice was always an aphrodisiac, so smooth and cold and proper. She looked up from under her lashes and saw Draco standing behind the desk in his best black suit, fingertips perched on the edge of the wood with three tools on the surface in front of him:

White rope, a black leather paddle and a piece of chalk.

“Did you know, Miss Granger, that the Malfoys have distant family all over this great country? I would pull out a map but I’m sure that you have it memorized.”

Hermione bit her tongue. When she was wearing her collar it was unwise to talk back. Besides, the cruel little smile on his face showed her that he was most certainly trying to rile her up.

“In fact, my mother happens to be good friends with the headmistress at this very school and she was so gracious to help me secure this wing for our meeting, particularly after my sizable donation to the library.” His eyes went dark, a smoldering silver in the golden afternoon sunlight. “And _you_ are once again late for class.”

Collar be damned, she folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. All day she’d been racing around…worried, tense, out of breath, angry, sweating and there wasn’t even a meeting at all? Draco took notice of her posture and seized on it.

“Something to say, girl?” He asked, drawing a fingertip down the length of the black paddle. The light caught his silver signet ring and she let out a breath.

She softened. She smiled. She became his kitten. 

“No I…I apologize Mr. Malfoy. I was distracted…I’m just…I’m so sorry,” She stumbled through the apology, instantly transported back to her school days, reliving the shame of being reprimanded.

“I’m sure you are. Always _so sorry,_ Miss Granger. But I’m afraid this time you’ve finally pushed me too far.”

He raised a hand and the door to the classroom slammed shut. She looked up at him and caught his wicked smile, the muscles between her legs clenching involuntarily when he picked up the paddle and tested it against his own palm.

“This time, you mouthy little swot, you’ve earned yourself a detention. A lengthy evening detention to be served alone, with me.”


	2. 10 Lines

For a moment when she first burst into the room, Draco felt a twinge of guilt at having deceived her so thoroughly. It was, after all, one of his greatest skills. The moment she’d told him that the meeting was at the school in Norwich, Draco had contacted headmaster Fiona and arranged to pick up the necessary archival documents on Monday when Hermione was at the Ministry working late. After that, all it took was money and he had an empty classroom and all the time in the world. 

And now his new wife was sat primly behind one of the desks, her knees tight together, hands folded as she stared straight ahead. He moved towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and she straightened her posture, her eyes following his every movement. When he stood in front of her desk he held out his hand wearing the signet ring and waited. This was the sign that she was ready to submit, that the scene could begin in earnest and she would give herself to his discipline completely. She bent forward and pressed her lips to the M on the ring, looking up at him through her dark lashes.

“So polite,” he murmured, “So tempting.” He reached behind her head and pulled the pins and clips from her hair, letting it tumble down her back. “I’ve told you before Ms. Granger that I don’t want your hair up in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Malfoy,” she sighed, her eyelids fluttering as he ran his fingers through her locks from root to tip, smoothing it away from her face. 

“Do you know why I’ve given you that rule?”

“No sir,” she said, sitting up straight again, awaiting direction.

Instead, Draco stepped around behind her and twisted all of her hair into his fist, gripping tightly at the nape. He bent forward and put his lips to her ear.

“Because when it’s down, my sweet girl, I can better imagine grabbing it and fucking into you from behind.” 

He let go and stepped away, clearing his throat, hiding his smile. As soon as he’d touched the back of her neck he’d felt the little shudder that rippled through her, heard the sigh when he’d whispered in her ear. 

“Please join me up at the front Miss Granger,” Draco said, setting two of the tools aside for the moment.

She stood immediately and made her way towards him, stopping in front of the desk.

“I’m going to have you write some lines for your detention,” he said, pushing the small box of chalk towards her as he remained seated in the desk chair. 

“What shall I write, sir?” She asked, taking the chalk and moving to the blackboard. 

  
She felt him step up behind her, his hands on her hips, slowly pulling her skirt up above her hips. 

“I want you,” he spoke softly, calm and even, “to write _I will do whatever Mr. M asks of me_ , ten times.”

“Only ten?” She asked. 

Her mind had reverted back to school, when writing lines were usually in numbers of fifty or one hundred. She was quickly reminded of the present, however when he smacked her left ass cheek with an open palm, a firm, stinging strike. 

“Are you questioning me, girl?” He asked, rubbing the spot he’d just slapped. 

She shook her head and he smacked her again on the other side, and she began to feel the telltale warming pulse between her legs. He was pressed up against her completely now, his hips grinding against her exposed ass, his fingernails dragging up her thighs. Still, his voice was quiet, almost soothing.

“Don’t you shake your head at me. Are. you. questioning me, girl?” he asked, punctuating each word with small, upward spanks.

“N..no sir,” she said, her forehead pressed to the blackboard. 

“Good girl.” He stepped back and let her skirt fall, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. “Start writing, kitten. And don’t stop no matter what happens, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” she answered instantly, putting the chalk to the blackboard. 

The first sentence was easy. Mr. Malfoy stood behind her in silence, nothing but the scratch of the chalk filling the room. As she moved to start in on the second, Hermione heard him moving and she hesitated.

“So easily distracted. Certainly something you need to work on Miss Granger.”

He moved to the pull the zipper of her skirt and it easily fell to her ankles. Still, she wrote her sentences, although her handwriting was beginning to falter, her words a bit slanted downwards. Bending down, he guided her feet to step from the skirt and set it aside. Certainly he could have just vanished her clothes, even wandlessly, but there was something so erotic, so delicious about stripping her down, unwrapping the prize beneath.

“I watch you in my class every day, little kitten,” he breathed, running his hand over her ass, down the insides of her thighs, teasing her by avoiding the area she wanted touched the most, the wet, throbbing heat between her legs.

She finished the third sentence.

“Always sitting there in your short little skirt and tight black jumper, tickling your face with the end of your quill, so proper, so well behaved.” 

In fact he was describing an outfit she’d worn sixth year. It was a black turtleneck her mother had gotten her for her birthday. Her breasts had definitely…flourished over the summer of fifth year and part of her had been embarrassed to wear the tight fitting garment, but Ginny and Parvati had assured her it would catch the attention of all the boys. Apparently it had caught the attention of at least one.

She heard him moving again, arranging things on the desk. There was quiet and then the distinct sound of leather on skin. Her chalk staggered across the board as he slapped the paddle into his palm once again. The back of her neck prickled and she turned her head ever so slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him. She wanted to see him playing the part, the top button of his black shirt undone, a little shock of white hair hanging in front of his eye. She liked to see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He caught her instantly and clucked his tongue.

“Eyes front Miss Granger,” he scolded. “You have lines to write. And here I thought you were a notorious rule follower.”

“I’m…I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy.”

“Now look at this," he breathed. "My slutty little swot wore something special for the professor.” 

He smoothed his hands over the globes of her ass, offering a low hum of approval. She’d worn a pair of black lace knickers that he’d gotten her as a requirement for one of their Sunday Sessions and he wrapped two fingers around one side and tugged them down (he'd never heard the end of it the last time he tore her favorite silver lace pair from some muggle shop) Hermione stumbled forward, the tail of her R scratching across the blackboard, earning another disappointing noise from him.

“Messy. You just _can’t_ seem to concentrate today, kitten. Perhaps you need a bit of discipline. Keep writing.”

The paddle was cool, rubbing over her skin as he prepped her and then she felt the swoosh of air and the dull spreading pain of the blow. The chalk in her hand snapped and she pressed her palms to the blackboard, catching her breath. 

“Every day you sit there, staring at me with your wide, glittering eyes…”

Another blow of the paddle and she felt her skin tingling like a hundred bee stings. 

“Crossing and uncrossing your legs, giving me a glimpse up that skirt while I’m trying to teach.”

She thought back to fifth year, sitting in the endless lectures of History of Magic class, the room dark and too warm, right after lunch. Everyone was drowsy, slow, a few quiet snores from Crabbe and Goyle in the back corner. She always felt someone staring, someone looking her over, and more than once she caught the culprit: Draco Malfoy. She had always assumed he was watching her with disgust, but when she caught his eye it was different. His cheeks would be pink as if he’d just run from his last class, his mouth fallen open. She never told Harry or Ron about it, it felt too strange, like he was a different Malfoy.

“So fidgety,” he said, smacking her ass once again, all illusions of her writing lines abandoned. “You never could sit still. What was running through your mind I wonder?”

He spoke as if he were remembering the same exchanged glances, the same dark hours in stuffy classrooms.

“Were you thinking of me, kitten?” He asked, running his palm over the red, warm skin, soothing it with his hand. 

In fact it had been fourth year, the first time Draco wore one of his well tailored black suits to class, that Hermione had first dreamt of him. It had woken her in complete confusion since they barely spoke, that year, what with everyone so preoccupied with the guests at the castle, the tournament. It was as if he'd forgotten to bully her. At least that's what she thought. The suit had surprised her, how it made him look like a...like a man instead of a petulant little boy. She'd dreamt that he found her alone in the library, that they'd studied at the same table. She dreamt that he'd leaned across the table and pressed his lips to hers. It had felt so real. It still gave her chills to remember.

“Y-yes…yes sir, always.”

For a brief second she felt his lips on the back of her neck and then one chaste kiss on each of the punished globes of her ass. Her face rested on the cool blackboard, smearing the lines she’d already written. He pressed another piece of chalk into her hand.

“Start again,” he said.

She pulled back and began writing again. Behind her she heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt buckle. The thought of him touching himself, stroking himself while she worked sent a bolt of energy from her belly to her clit, her muscles clenching deep inside. 

“And you _are_ mine, aren’t you Miss Granger? That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me, isn’t it? You belong to me. All of you.”

“Yes sir,” she said, a wave of arousal coursing through her blood. 

She could hear the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, quiet groans under his breath, a hiss from between his teeth. If she closed her eyes she could picture him perfectly, the furrow in his concentrating brow, his tongue flicking out over his lips, the tendons in his neck. He knew it was torture to keep her from watching.

“Good girl. Keep working and step your legs apart, kitten,” he said. “I need to see that tight little pussy you’ve been dying to show me in class.”

“Yes sir,” she said.

Letting her knickers drop to her ankles and kicking them to the side, she stood before him bare from the waist down except her black boots. Her legs were parted just enough that when she tipped her hips back he could see the glistening pink of that gorgeous cunt. His cock was like steel just looking at her body, just knowing it was his, that she’d given herself to him for the rest of her life. Vows and rings and unbreakable bonds were one thing, but trusting him with her body, with her fantasies, with her needs, meant more to him than anything in the world. As she began her fifth sentence he grabbed her ass cheek with one hand and spread her open, his thumb sliding down between to find the wetness at her opening. 

“Oh..oh god, oh please,” She moaned, her handwriting once again stuttering across the board. 

“So wet, you little minx. Are you this wet for me in class every day? Squeezing your thighs together, hoping for some relief?” 

He was so close. She tipped her hips back towards him further, spreading her legs a bit and he stroked his thumb between her lips, gathering up her slick arousal, circling her hidden clit.

“Y-yes sir…”  
  
He groaned, remembering exactly how she looked in fourth year charms class, the tip of a clean quill in her mouth, pink lips pursed around it. She’d started wearing gloss on her lips fourth year, making them look so plump, so shiny. His thoughts had gone haywire, his dreams of her going far beyond a sweet little kiss in a broom closet.

“I see you sometimes,” he said, gripping tight to the base of his dick, trying to hold off. “When you work I see you getting distracted and biting your bottom lip, leaning forward in your seat…concentrating so deeply, those perfect luscious tits squeezed between your arms…”

She whined.

“Are you thinking about me right now you horny little slut? Thinking about what my tongue would feel like slipping through your slick pussy, sucking on your tits?”

He could only imagine her just as she’d been in school, when he’d first realized that his insults, his cruelty, his incessant staring at the side of her head during exams was not due to hatred, it was from want. It was from jealousy of how light, how happy she was with her friends, how they could touch and hug and smile at her…

The sound of her chalk stopped and he realized his eyes had been squeezed shut. He looked up and saw her watching over her shoulder, his hand had started sliding up and down his shaft again, slower, his thumb brushing the head of his cock, slippery with a pearly bead of come. 

“Please…Mr. M…I need you…”

Looking up he could see that she’d only finished six sentences.

“Keep writing,” he said, kneeling behind her. “I can smell you.”

Even as he pleasured himself with his left hand, his right drew two fingers between her legs, stroking down either side of her hardened clit. She gasped and stumbled and tried to push against him.

“Keep…writing,” he stammered, reaching the edge. “Don’t you dare stop and don’t you dare come. Oh god…oh fuck…kitten…”

His fingers sunk inside her just as she felt the hot splash of his release on her legs, his forehead pressed into the small of her back. The sound of his groaning climax made her pussy clench tight around his long fingers and he continued his slow pump in and out.

“Good girl,” he whispered, smearing his seed into her skin, spreading her cheeks as his fingers worked in and out, shining with her juices. “Can’t wait to taste you, pretty girl.”

Her muscles throbbed, trying to pull him deeper. She whined and pushed, still managing to get the words on the blackboard as her climax threatened at the edges of her consciousness. 

“Please…please Mr. Malfoy…” 

It was barely audible, under her breath, but he heard it and he smiled. 

“What do you need,” he asked, pressing kisses to her backside, the peachy pink flesh of her asscheeks, sensitive from his discipline. “What are you begging me for, girl?”

“I want…I need” she said, dropping the chalk.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, dirty girl,” he said, finally regaining control after his orgasm, finally coming back into focus. “You want to come. You want it so badly. You want me to make you come.”

“Please…” she breathed as his fingers pushed deeper, crooking forward, sending her spiraling towards a climax that he hadn’t given permission for. “Your tongue, your mouth…please…anything…”

“Are you close Kitten? It feels like you might snap my fingers right off.” He stood and pressed against her back, his hand still buried between her legs, lips on her neck. “Do you want to flood my tongue with your cream? Because I’ve imagined it a thousand times, little girl, ducking beneath that desk of yours and kneeling between your perfect thighs.” Three fingers now, long slow strokes to tease her. “I would hide beneath that prim little skirt and let you fuck my tongue. Is that what you want?”

He felt her clench around him and ran his tongue up the side of her neck. It occurred to him only then that he hadn’t even kissed her hello. He would remedy it soon enough…but now...now she was so close.

“Faster…faster please…harder," she gasped. Forgetting her role in the story, Hermione reached down and grabbed his wrist, trying to drive him deeper inside, trying to grind her clit against the heel of his hand. 

And he stopped. 

“No.”

The whine from deep in her throat was ambrosia to him but he didn’t give in. Instead he pulled her from the blackboard and spun her around, pushing her down on the desk to stand between her legs, not allowing her the friction or pressure she needed.

“I think you’ve forgotten, sweet girl,” he said, picking up the coil of white rope, “this is supposed to be your punishment."


	3. Unring The Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to break this into two chapters but I made you wait long enough, so its just complete :) Enjoy and stay safe.

  
Hermione fell back, limp and frustrated, whimpering with need as Draco wedged himself between her legs, keeping her from getting the relief she needed. She sighed and mewled, and he chuckled at her frustration, placing the coils of white rope on her chest.

“I’ve dreamt of laying you out on this desk for so long,” he said, running his hand down between her breasts and over her belly. “Good girl. Lay still. _Incarcerous Suaviter_.”

It was a spell he’d modified a few months back when they found that with Draco’s tight, complicate bindings regular rope often left marks on her skin. Not that she minded the discomfort, or the bruising, but sometimes it just wasn’t what he wanted. Today, for example, he wanted her to be helpless but still able to move…bondage in a literary sense, you could say. Today he wanted to see her undulating like a snake, twisting her limbs as she sought her release. One length of rope wound around her wrists and one around each ankle. He knelt down to tie off each leg to the base of the desk before uttering the spell again, her arms pulled far above her head, a long length of rope tied off to a desk in the front row. 

“Now let’s finally get a look at those tits you’ve been tempting me with all term,” he said cheerfully, easily popping the buttons on her blouse, the delicate swaths of fabric dropping to her sides. He hummed in approval and bent to kiss the pale soft skin spilling out from the cups of her lace bra before pulling each breast free, swirling his tongue around her nipples, grazing them with his teeth. Her breasts were far more sensitive than usual and she cried out at the stimulation, gripping tight to the ropes that slid against her palms. “Tsk tsk,” he said clucking his tongue, “now lay still! What would the headmaster say seeing you laid out across my desk like a wanton cock slut?” He asked, unfastening the buttons on his waistcoat. 

Hermione lifted her head to watch him kiss his way down her belly, his tongue dipping deep into her navel as his hands ran up her thighs, his fingers digging deep to hold her in position. 

“What would he say if he could see your pussy dripping all over my desk,” he purred, crouching between her thighs, blowing a light stream of air over her glistening core. “I’ll never get the smell out, thank God.”

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she waited to feel the touch of his tongue, his lips closing around her clit, the scratch of his cheek against her thigh. No one on the planet ate pussy like Draco Malfoy. If she closed her eyes she could feel his tongue sinking deep between her lips, kissing her hot cunt just like he did her mouth, slow and luxurious, moaning against her tender flesh as he explored every inch.

“P…please,” she whispered, still waiting. 

But relief never came. 

Instead he simply circled the desk, teasing her every so often with a hand running through her hair from root to tip or brushing his lips over her neck. He crouched between her spread legs and kissed her calves, the backs of her knees, still able to smell the bright, ocean like scent of her arousal. Every time she twitched or strained against her restraints he’d give her a sharp slap on her breast or her hip.

“Still fidgeting. Shall I tell you, little Kitten, about the first time I imagined fucking you?” He said, standing between her legs once again, his warm hands resting on her thighs, one thumb brushing over her mound, keeping every nerve ending on edge, waiting for his touch, his tongue, his cock. 

“Yes,” she sighed, trying to buck against his hips. “Please, Mr. M.”

“It was sixth year,” he said, removing his waistcoat and unbuttoning his shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. “Herbology.”

His mark was still there, but faded, like an old photograph of the past, an aging memory. 

_She could still remember the first time she’d touched it, her hand closing over it as he thrust into her, pushing up onto his hands for leverage. She’d grabbed him to urge him on, to pull him closer, but instead he’d stopped cold, his whole body tensing above her._

_“Draco?”_

_Their affair was new, just learning each other’s needs, finding their boundaries, and she was worried that she’d done something wrong. He was frowning, staring down into her eyes, while his own glittered silver in the moonlight that shone through his window._

_“You…your hand, I just…”_

_He pulled himself free from her grip and rolled off onto his back. Hermione looked at her hand, then his arm and it all became clear. The mark had steadily faded since the Dark Lord’s death, a gray shadow where an inky scar once was, but it would always be there._

_“Did I hurt you?” She asked._

_“No, no it’s ridiculous. I’m fucking ridiculous I just…” he threw his forearm over his eyes as if to hide his humiliation. “You shouldn’t have to see it. And I never wanted you to touch it. You shouldn’t have to...” He was quiet for a long time and Hermione lay back down, moving to rest her head on his chest. In the darkness Draco sighed and said, “I hate it.”_

“I remember it was spring. As you know I was quite literally on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Not eating, not sleeping, consumed with the cabinet…” He touched her again, the tip of one finger stroking her, parting her folds, but never ever giving enough. “I heard you you know, when you were talking with some of the girls...” slow, tantalizing strokes, “...I heard you say that I didn’t look well, looked ill. I was surprised you even noticed.”

Hermione stilled, focusing on the dreamy, bittersweet tone of his nostalgia. It had surprised _her_ that she'd noticed his decline, but for some reason it had touched her...to see the once proud and haughty Draco Malfoy brought so low. He didn't joke with his friends, no longer played Quidditch. He was never teasing first years in the library or stealing people's desserts. It was as if he'd aged twenty years in a month and even after all he'd put her through, it saddened her. Now that she knew what he was going through, it hurt even more. 

“I was happy just to be outside. It was one of the first warm days of the year and we were out looking for some deadly fairy mushroom…”

“Destroying Angel…” Hermione breathed, remembering the day well, remembering Draco looking thin, drawn, his black suit such a ridiculous contrast to the rest of them in their spring t-shirts and jeans.

“Yes, little swot, that was it,” he said, smiling. “And I remember looking over at you bent over this little pile of rocks and bark, deep in the forest, your hair pinned up with three pencils jammed through it, and you found them. You found the mushrooms and you cried out _oh, right there!_ ”

He moved out from between her legs and ran a finger up her arm to her jaw before bending down close to her ear.

“And you sounded just like some wanton tart begging to get fucked, needing a thick cock thrust into you in just the right spot.”

He flicked his tongue out over the shell of her ear and licked down her throat. 

“I was sixteen years old and of course my prick was rock hard at the thought of it; and I just stared at you. You. Granger…who I was so sure that I’d hated all this time.” He stuck two fingers into her mouth and she sucked and licked them voraciously until he pulled back, circling her nipples with the wet fingertips. “I looked at you, and it was like I’d suddenly woken up, like coming out of a fog. In that moment I realized that from the beginning I’d tortured you because I wanted you so badly, Granger,” he growled…his long, warm fingers sliding down between her legs again as he spoke into her ear. “I wanted to see that tight, slick pussy stretched around me.”

“Yesss...” she hissed, turning her face to his. “Please...please don’t make me wait.”

For a moment she watched his eyes trace over her features, her begging eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and then he pressed his lips to hers, plunging his tongue deep just as two of his fingers pushed inside her cunt. She whined into his open mouth and he broke their kiss, adding a third, long finger to stroke her deep, his thumb circling her clit as she moaned, clenching around him, the white pulse of her orgasm coming into focus.

“I never imagined --ever-- not in twenty eight years that you’d actually be right here, spread wide, begging me to make you come on my hand. Is that what you want?” His words were obscene and wet against her ear, “You want to come for me pretty kitten?”

His voice was warm and breathy, a low rumbling storm in her ear, like a tempting serpent urging her on as he fucked her relentlessly with his hand.

“Yes…please…please…" she begged. But she knew better than to let go, to topple over the edge of bliss without his permission. No matter how difficult it was, no matter how wet or ravenous or blinded by lust, she had to obey.

Because she wanted to play his game.

  
_“I’d like to try something with you,” he’d said to her one morning as they sat on the sofa with their tea, Hermione having spent a whole weekend with him for the first time._

_“Oh?” She answered, still looking at the arts section of the Prophet._

_“I want to see how well you can control yourself, Kitten,” he said, setting down his mug and pulling her foot into his lap to massage the arch, that one tender, soft spot that ached at the end of every long day. He'd tested out the term of endearment only the night before, praising her as she was bent over his bathroom sink, and to his surprise she'd responded with a pleasurable moan. When he asked later if she minded being his Kitten she'd flushed a deep crimson and assure him that she didn't mind at all._

_“Control myself? Do you know who you’re talking to, Malfoy?” She said, setting her book aside and letting him pamper her for a moment._

_“I’m not talking about refraining from a second cream puff, love,” he said, his hand running a bit further up her leg to the soft skin above her knee, beneath the hem of her nightshirt. “But I think you know that.”_

_It had surprised Hermione the first time Draco had mentioned boundaries to her. She’d always assumed that discussions of limits and desires were destined to be dry “had over dinner” discussions, but he’d brought it up in the shower, his soapy hands massaging her neck and shoulders._

_“I’ve noticed something about you, Granger, something I think you might like to explore,” he said, his hands sliding down to her wrists, pulling her arms behind her back, water streaming down her chest._

_“Oh really?” She said, already feeling warm, a deep thrumming pulse between her legs._

_“Really,” he said, tipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. “Because I think you like me holding your wrists like this. I think you like me giving you firm direction, don’t you...Kitten?”_

_“Yes sir,” she moaned, leaning back into his chest._

_“I wonder if you would enjoy a bit of...discipline with your direction?”_

_“Yes...I wonder…” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut._

_Since that day they’d exchanged hours and hours of fantasies, laying out details of things they’d imagined alone for years, finally feeling the freedom to explore the darkest edges of their sexual appetites having at last found the one person they trusted to try them with. It was one thing for Hermione to let go and give over control of her body to another person, to allow herself to be bound, to be punished and degraded; but it was just as dangerous for Draco to let himself give in to his most hidden desires, to open himself up to ridicule and disgust. They both knew that with each other, they were safe._

_“From now on, my Kitten,” he’d told her that day on the sofa, as his fingers slipped inside her dripping pussy. “I want you to do your very best to not come until I give you permission.”_

_“I…OK,” she breathed, a shiver running over her skin as he slowly thrust in and out, his fingers crooked forward, brushing over the front wall of her passage, his thumb stroking down the either side of her clit. She reached down to clamp her hand over his wrist, trying to guide his rhythm.“I…can’t…”_

_“Shhh…no whining, Kitten. Let go of me.” His voice was firm but kind, until she didn’t let go. Then she heard the dark, razor sharp tone of his dominance for the first time. “Look at me,” he said._

_Her eyes snapped up to meet his, slightly narrowed, his mouth a tight line. It wasn’t anger or disappointment on his face…it was focus. It was hunger and want. She was interfering with his progress and that wasn’t allowed. Being in his thrall heightened every touch, every feeling.  
_

_“Let go of my arm, put your hands at your sides and do not move them,” he said, nodding when she did as he asked. The power and promise in his tone went right to her pussy and she clenched around this twisting fingers. “Very good girl,” he purred, thrusting deep again. “Keep your eyes on me sweet girl, and don’t you dare come. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to watch you fall apart, do you understand?”_

_“Yes,” she said, wriggling a bit, letting her legs fall open wider._

_“Yes…” he circled her clit with the fingers of his other hand, working her hard and right to the edge. “Yes...what?”_

_“Yes sir,” she answered. “I’m sorry sir.”_

_“Oh, and an apology too,” He said smiling, feeling her tighten and flutter around him, her cream running down to his palm. “I like that, Kitten. Such good manners. But from now on when we’re playing like this, you can call me Mr. M.”_

“Look at you, Kitten,” he whispered, sliding a third finger inside her slippery hole, making her legs shake as she whined at the delicious stretch. “Doing such a good job for me. I feel you squeezing me…I feel the heat coming off your skin….so close…so fucking close. You want to come for me. I’d love to have you come on my tongue, on my face. Would you like that? I could just drink you up.”

She could only nod and he licked around the shell of her ear before sucking the lobe in between his teeth. 

“Maybe later,” he said, placing a kiss on her temple. “Naughty girl.”

He pulled his fingers from her and smeared the wetness on her stomach, pulling his warm, damp hand up between her breasts. After a few more moments of this torture he stood up and roughly pushed her whole body forward so that her head hung off the side of the desk, the ropes around her ankles pulled taut, her legs spread obscenely wide. He would have given anything for a picture of her at that moment, laying there presented to him like a holy sacrifice, so vulnerable, so beautiful, so bare…but that was a boundary they’d agreed to on their wedding night, a sort of secondary set of Kitten Vows they’d taken when they were alone. He’d promised her that from that moment on she would know about all photography well ahead of time while she promised not to dog ear the pages on his spellbooks. So instead he took a few moments to simply savor the scene he’d created, the way her body glowed with a beam of gold afternoon sun slanted across her body, the way her flushed chest rose and fell with frenzied breath, her breasts full and rosy, her hair a long, caramel waterfall just inches from the hardwood floor. 

He ran a single finger down the length of her leg as he walked around the desk, to the front where she hung upside down, her cheeks going red.

“Comfortable?” He asked, bending down to kiss the hollow of her throat.

“Y-yes sir,” she stuttered, her pussy still clenching around nothing, the throbbing heat between her legs begging to be released. 

He reached for one of her nipples, twisting and plucking the taut little peak before moving to the other. In response to the stimulation she arched her back, whining in frustration.

“Don’t move,” he snapped, slapping the side of her breast, instantly pinking the skin, pulling a moan from deep in her throat. “Cheeky slut, you keep trying to distract me from your punishment.”

She went still but her breathing was heavy, the tendons standing out against her throat. And then he was standing over her, straddling her outstretched arms, his thick, long stiffening in his fist. 

“Open,” he said, pulling at her lower jaw as he stroked himself with his other hand. “Be a good little slut and take all of this down that pretty throat and then maybe I’ll let you come, do you understand?” 

“Yes Mr. M,” she said, opening her mouth wide. 

  
_She’d been quiet after their first full weekend of play. It was a Sunday afternoon and she was laying on her stomach in his bed while he rubbed bruise paste into her wrists and ankles and cast a cooling charm on the reddened cheeks of her ass._

_“Does this hurt?” He asked, massaging her shoulders to ease the soreness from having her arms stretched above her head for so long._

_“No, it feels good,” she said, pulling his pillow into her arms and tucking it under her chin._

_He finished his ministrations and lay beside her, pulling her to his side._

_“Something’s wrong, Granger,” he said. “I know we’ve only been together for a few months but usually I can’t get you to stop talking long enough to eat, particularly after…”_

_“Do you think less of me?” She asked suddenly. “That I don’t mind being…used…like that? That I let you call me a slut…”_

_“Do you think less of you?” He asked, carding his fingers through her hair, his brow furrowed deep with concern. “Because if you feel hurt or dirty or degraded then I won’t do it.” He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “Hermione?”_

_“I don’t,” she said instantly, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I don’t…I should. I told Hannah about my…proclivities once and she was offended…I mean I understand it’s not for everyone and I suppose a good feminist should…”_

_“Know what she wants and know to ask for it. I do not think less of you for asking for what you want, particularly when you ask it of me.” He buried his nose in her hair and massaged the back of her neck. “Don’t be ashamed of your desires darling,” he whispered. “And don’t be afraid of your boundaries either. Promise you’ll always tell me if I’ve gone too far.”_

_“I promise.”_

  
He held her head in his hands and pushed deep into her mouth, his cock nestled tightly in her wet, warm throat. She swallowed around his thick length and he groaned with pleasure when she hummed from deep in her belly. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling back and thrusting in again, deeper still, her stretched and shiny wet lips wrapped around him. “Oh I could live out the rest of my days with my cock in your mouth. You were made for it. You were made for me.”

He pulled out again and wiped the drool from her chin and throat, lifting her head for a moment’s respite, letting the blood rush back down to her heart. 

“Still OK?” He asked, and she could hear that it was Draco asking and not her punishing professor. He bent over and kissed the center of her forehead. 

“My-my neck is…a bit…I don’t want to stop.”

He nodded and stood and moved to the other side of the desk, pulling her back so that her head rested on the wood.

“Better?”

“Yes Mr. M,” she said.

He walked to her side and held out his hand for her to kiss the M signet ring on his hand, their signal to continue once the scene had been broken. Once she had done so, he stroked her cheek and stuck his thumb between her wet lips for her to suck before dragging it down to the hollow of her throat. 

“Do you think that I’ve made my point today, Kitten? Regarding your inappropriate behavior in my class?”

“Yes sir,” she said, “thank you sir.”

He stripped fully out of his trousers and briefs and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, pulling it from his shoulders, taking his time to just draw out the torture. After the wedding he’d gotten a new tattoo, just below his collarbone, a beautiful Old English H in black ink, forever marking her on his heart. Bared to her completely he moved between her spread and bound legs, opening her with his fingers, teasing her shining wet clit. 

“Shall I give you your reward now?” He asked, rubbing the head of his prick against her opening. “Do you think you’ve earned a good fucking?”

“Yes please,” she said, almost embarrassed at the desperation in her voice. He’d been edging her since the moment she’d walked into the room and every inch of her body was on fire with tension, waiting, wanting. She was afraid that if he asked her to wait much longer she’d fail him spectacularly in demonstrating her self control.

Thankfully he nodded in agreement and pushed inside her, holding her hips as he buried himself to the root, grinding against her pelvis. Once he was fully seated he bent over her beautifully stretched torso to kiss her mouth, their tongues twisting and lapping, consuming each other until they were breathless.

“Happy Anniversary, Granger,” he said, breaking the kiss to smile against her lips. “ _Finite_.”

The ropes disappeared and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her chest as he began his steady, thrusting rhythm. 

“Oh thank God,” she sighed, hooking her legs around his thighs, pressing every inch of her warm skin to his. 

At the feel of his thick cock sliding along her walls she began to clench and tighten around him almost instantly, her heart fluttering in anticipation of a powerful climax. 

“You feel so good, so warm, oh fuck…” Draco muttered. 

With one arm around her waist he easily pulled her up and moved to sit in the chair behind the desk, letting her straddle him, her arms draped over his shoulders as she took what she needed, her full breasts bouncing as she snapped her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy. He could tell she was close as her pace became more frantic, moving to press her forehead to his. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, “Thank you...Oh!”

He felt her tightening, felt her fingers digging into his back as she tried to hold off, slowing the roll of her hips. Capturing her mouth with his own he drove up into her, swallowing her piercing cry. 

“Go on, love,” he said. “Let me hear you come.”

It only took another moment until she was trembling and whining, holding her husband tight as her orgasm over took her, falling against him as he nuzzled her neck, sucking at the rapid pulse beneath her heated skin. Her powerful climax easily triggered his own and he groaned his release, emptying inside her with a few final hard thrusts. They rocked together, limbs intertwined, riding out the waves of their combined bliss. As the final throes twitched through her she went limp in his arms, shivering and murmuring, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she said, kissing the tendon that stood out from his neck. “This was perfect.”

Draco ran his hands through her sweat damp hair and pulled her lips to his, kissing her long and deep, massaging the back of her neck.

“Of course it was, love,” he said. “I am the self crowned Prince of Well Planned Surprises.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes before taking a moment to catch her breath, just enjoying the warmth of his skin pressed to hers. 

“I _am_ going to kill you later, unfortunately,” she said sweetly, tickling her fingers over his back.

“Thank you for the advanced notice,” he muttered, eyes still closed. 

“I was a wreck this morning, and you knew the whole time…don’t you laugh at me!” She said, laughing herself. "I’m trying to be angry with you.”

“I know you are, darling,” he said, placing a wet, smacking kiss on one of her nipples. “But it’s impossible when I deliver a gold star shagging like that.”

She sighed and pulled herself out of his lap, shaking her head as she stretched and rotated her wrists and ankles. Draco was the first man that let her feel comfortable in her nudity, unashamed of her scent, her taste, the noises she made, the sheen of sweat after they'd been together. He was the first man that she left the light on for, actually watching as he went down on her, the first she felt no shame with. And after a stressful week at the ministry her body was loose and relaxed thanks to him; but Draco didn’t need that sort of ego inflation so she simply strode around the desk looking for the bits of her clothing that weren’t torn or irreparably damaged. 

“I brought you a dress,” he said, finally standing up himself. “So we could go out to a proper dinner. See,” he added, picking up his trousers, “I’ve thought of everything!” He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her, the tip already glowing a bright, warm amber. “Even remembered the contraception charm.”

At that Hermione just smiled, standing there naked in the afternoon sun, her hair long enough that it hung in long waves to the center of her back. She was like Eve in the garden, beautiful and natural, a sort of peaceful glow about her. 

“You needn’t bother with that,” she said, pushing the wand out of the way. “It’s like you’ve always said, Draco…can’t unring a bell.”

She nearly laughed as the realization dawned on him, but then he rushed forward and fell to his knees at her feet, pressing his ear to her flat belly.

“I’m going to have to teach you a thing or two about pregnancy, Malfoy,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s only the size of a pea right now, there’s nothing to hear.” 

He stood and placed a hand on her stomach, gentle and protective, his brow deeply furrowed. “But I…you were tied up…I paddled…”

“It’s fine, Draco. It’s perfectly safe. Nothing has to change between us for a while…but that's why I was so excited for our date tonight, I wanted to finally tell you. I've know for a while, as the Princess of Well Planned Surprises.”

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her, pulling her into an embrace that she could have lived in for days, nearly hidden in his strong, warm arms, tucked safely under his chin. “Thank you for the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Malfoy,” she said politely. “But I am starving, so we’d better get going, Professor.”

As they walked down the empty hallways of the Academy hand in hand, Hermione smiled and glanced in his direction.

“What did you tell Strumpshaw you were using the room for anyway?” She asked quietly, only a little bit afraid at what his answer would be. 

“What, kinky anniversary sex isn’t a good enough use?”

“Draco Malfoy if you…”

“I told her you were thinking of giving a class at the ministry and wanted me to help you…” he leaned in to her ear and she could feel him smiling. “…with some roleplay.”

“And she bought that?” Hermione asked, lifting a brow.

“I highly doubt it. Why do you think there are no students in this wing of the building this afternoon? Although she did tell me she’d be around if I needed anything,” He said laughing. “We could come back for a little threesome after if you'd like.”

"Reprehensible," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe I'm letting you father my children."

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side and with a loud crack the Malfoy family disapparated with plenty of time to get dinner.


End file.
